


Oye Teach!

by crishxan (maya_lev)



Category: Bleach
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Blond Grimmjow, F/M, M/M, Pining, Teacher Ichigo, Teacher-Student Relationship, Teenager Grimmjow, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-09-29 23:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17213099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maya_lev/pseuds/crishxan
Summary: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez has always been a troublemaker and Ichigo has been as forgiving as he can be giving due consideration to his rough upbringing. Then the punk goes and crosses a line and Ichigo loses it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd. If anyone's interested in helping a girl out by beta-ing this hot mess, consider this girl extremely grateful.

The more time Ichigo spent facing the board, the higher the crescendo of murmurs behind him rose. He pressed the marker hard and dragged it across the white surface. It screeched unpleasantly under the pressure. The letters looked like they were scratched with a knife point. The pleasant cursive that he insisted that his students adapt, was nowhere to be seen. He tsk’ed loudly hoping to get the annoying chatter to quiet down, but the hooligans didn’t pay attention.

“Keep at it and you will be spending the Formal in my class.”

The yapping seized for all of two minutes, before the buzzing noise caught up like a steady incoming wave. Ichigo exhaled slowly and forced down his urge to throw his marker at one of the monkey’s heads. He turned away from the board and levelled a glare at the obnoxious morons, and found one especially overzealous buffoon cackling at something on his lap.

“Rinker!”, snapped Ichigo, a nerve on his temple threatening to burst.

The midget blonde blinked slowly taking in the picture of his seething teacher. The grin on his face slackened and he said, “Mr. Kurosak -,”

“ _Out_!” said Ichigo, through gritted teeth, “No explanation. Just get out. _Now_.” He surveyed the rest of them with narrowed eyes, deftly avoiding the right corner in the back. He sneered at the mixed response he got - some clearly looking guilty and others, confused. Rinker collected his books, shoved them and walked out of the class dejectedly. “Anybody else wants to give Mr. Rinker some company?” It was an advanced calculus class, five days before the mid-terms. They wouldn’t dare.

“No?” he said, his voice losing a little bit of the aggression, “Good. Now that we understand each other, I suggest we get back to solving the problem.”

He was about to turn his back to them, when a child-like voice spoke up, “Mr. Kurosaki.”

It was Odelschwanck. The only person in the entire room, who actually wanted to be in there.

“What is it, Tu?”, he said curtly.

Hazel eyes sharpened and thin, angular brows sunk to give him a frown that looked extremely foreign on the pleasant girl’s face. Ichigo tried to ignore the way his shoulders wanted to slink under the hurt look he received. He continued to keep his stern expression.

It was easier not to show any favoritism to his best student today. His bad mood was truly ruling over all his emotions.

“You missed a sin on the third step,” said the girl.

Somebody from right corner of the room snickered loudly. Ichigo reigned in the urge to cast a quick glance at the source of the unwelcome noise with a will that grew out of self-preservation. Any other day, that would have earned a sharp retort and swift detention. But not today. Not today.

“As attentive as ever, Tu,” said Ichigo instead, as nonchalantly as he could and turned back to the board.

When he felt a pair of eyes boring into the back of skull, Ichigo firmly told himself that it was his imagination. 

* * *

 

“Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine today?”

Ichigo frowned as he pulled up the equation editor and drew a square root and stuffed eight different variables in it. He glanced at the loud red-head who was looming over his shoulder and snorted. He chose to ignore the jibe.

“No score on Friday, then,” continued Abarai, the gruff Physical Ed teacher who had the nose of a grandma with the way he put it where it didn’t belong.

“Not now, Renji,” said Ichigo, elbowing him in the chest, “I have to put together this quiz before the next period.”

Renji peered at his screen and then looked at Ichigo, his face way too close for his comfort. He could smell his breakfast on his breath.

Ichigo opened his mouth to give a lecture on personal space but Renji took hold of the hand that was gripping the mouse and hauled him out of his chair.

“Oye!” said Ichigo, indignantly, as he was dragged out of his classroom. “What are you doing?” he hissed as they entered the corridor and the few students who were out gave them a curious look. Renji shook his head to warn him not to make a scene.

Two minutes later Ichigo found himself in the courtyard, with a homemade cheese burger in hand that had a rabbit cartoon on its wrapping.

“I don’t need you to coddle me, Renji,” said Ichigo, taking a bite out of the burger. He didn’t realize he had been hungry until then.

“You were asking them to solve the second Taylor polynomial! For heaven’s sake, it’s December!”

“They will be giving their SATs soon!”

“Ichigo, those are Soph kids! Do you want to fail them?”

Ichigo slammed on hand on the steel table before him and said seething, “If they fail, then they sure as hell deserve it!”

The silence his outburst brought was short-lived. Renji sighed loudly and plopped down beside him, and hand coming to hold the back of his neck and wrung it tightly. “What’s gotten into you, Ichi? This isn’t like you.”

Ichigo continued chewing his snack and chose not to reply. The tree above them rustled and a chill breeze swept past them. It would have been way more comfortable to stay indoors, but there could be only so much privacy with the free-period kids roaming the halls and slumbering in the cafeteria.

“Did something happen back home?”

Ichigo cut him an annoyed look, but simmered down at the honest concern in his colleague’s eyes. “Everything is dandy,” he said and chucked the crushed paper wrapper in the direction of the garbage can that was covered with snow. It plopped against it and felt to the ground.

“Did something happen with Inoue?”

Ichigo stiffened, his mind behaving like a proverbial deer caught in headlights, zeroing in on a single memory of fierce eyes looking down at him with the intent of murder in them. A chill breeze swept past them and Ichigo shivered. Renji noticed. How could he not? He was engulfing Ichigo’s entire left side.

“You are starting to scare me,” said Renji, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “Something went wrong,” he concluded.

Ichigo bared his teeth and sucked a cold breath in. His gums protested against the harsh treatment, but the pain grounded him. “You can’t help me, Ren,” he said, before the red-head could ask him. They had been friends since the day Ichigo has won a ball game against him, and that had been in Sereitei University six years ago. Renji had been the reason Ichigo had moved to Hueco Mundo and gotten a job at Las Noches High. They were very close. Ichigo would go so far as to say he would do anything for the red-head short of cutting his own hand and even that was bargainable.

But Ichigo couldn’t open his mouth about Friday.

A few seconds passed when no words were said, but the look Ichigo received carried everything.

Renji was waiting. “No one’s hurt,” said Ichigo, answering without really answering. “There’s no trouble.”

The hand around Ichigo unwound itself, and taking with it the warmth of a trusting friend. If Renji knew what had occurred two days ago, the same hand would be pointing an accusing finger across a courtroom. No. He better not open his mouth.

“Do you want to talk to Rukia instead?,” said Renji, sounding ten years older than he was. When it came to his ‘boy-problems’, Renji stepped back and let his wife handle it, claiming she could sympathize much better than he did. If only it were as simple as that. Ichigo snorted and shook his head.

“I don’t get why –”

The loud sound of the electrical bell tore through the chilly afternoon and Renji stood up, looking conflicted. “We are your friends, Ichigo,” he said looking as miserable as Ichigo felt.  
Ichigo got up too, patting Renji on the shoulder and moving to head back to his class. “That’s why you need to trust me on this one,” said Ichigo, solemnly, sounding nothing like the wretch he was.

He was almost inside the swivelling doors when he remembered something. “Listen, Renji. I have two seniors set for detention after school today. Can you take them off my hands?”

* * *

Ichigo started shutting down his computer even before class had ended. But it was an ancient piece of junk that took longer than it should have and it was the sole reason why he couldn’t make an early exit as he had planned. Not a beat after the last kid had shuffled out, the door was thrown open with force that it hit the wall with a resounding bang.

Ichigo did not have to look up to know who it was.

“Mr. Abarai is expecting you in the grounds, Mr. Jaegerjaquez,” said Ichigo, tapping his fingers on desk and willing the computer to work faster.  
Footsteps loud and confident, approached him. More closer than they should have and before he could do anything about it Ichigo felt looming presence on the his right.

He was thankful for the desk that separated them.

“Mr. Jaegerjaquez,” Ichigo began sternly, then froze as his eyes landed on the seventeen-year old. He was beautiful, no denying it. Careless blond hair falling over fierce blue eyes held by wing-like teal tattoos, a strong jaw jutting forward in defiance making the high cheekbones look like the were further up than they were – a young Roman prince out of his time - but no, what stopped Ichigo short was the four purplish streaks across the side of his face.

Something terrible unfurled in his chest and he made a jerking motion – reaching out then stopping himself. Why was the brat parading around with that bruise? Couldn’t he have worn a scarf? Or some makeup? Was he trying to rub it in, or worse, threaten him? He narrowed his eyes as those wicked lips formed a knowing smirk.

Ichigo turned away, nettled. His computer screen was finally black. Switching off the UPS, he collected his things, shoved them in his bag and stood up. Hell if he was going to be a party to whatever drama the punk had planned.

“Ya in a hurry, Mr. Kurosaki?”

Predictably, Ichigo found his way blocked by the six-feet-four teenager. He had to tilt his head up to look into those maddening blue eyes and level him a stern stare. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business, Jaegerjaquez,” snapped Ichigo. He watched as those eyes widened, then narrowed.

“Ya actin’ all prissy cuz of Friday.”

For a moment there, Ichigo was completely sure he was going to lose it. Slam a fist into that cocky mouth, break his nose and make him bleed. But he remembered that he was this infuriating creature’s teacher.

He closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose. When he opened them, the teenager stood even closer to him than before. Ichigo resisted the urge to step back. A show of weakness would lead to no where good. His heart slammed against his ribcage, not appreciating the closeness but he ignored it.

“Like I said, Mr. Abarai is expecting you. You should –”

“Ya think ya can jus ignore me and I ain’t gonna notice?” said Jaegerjaquez inching close and sneering down at him with accusing eyes. Ichigo found himself momentarily sidelined by the overwhelming, ashy smell of cigarettes.

“You have been smoking again,” said Ichigo, disappointment evident in his voice. He jabbed a hand into the burly teenager's shoulder, jerking him away, but only by a few inches. 

“ _So_?” said Jaegerjaquez, challengingly, “Watchu gonna do bout it? Snitch on me to mah da?”

If calling this young hooligan’s father was an option, Ichigo would have done it the day he had started at Las Noches. Ichigo felt he had had enough dealing with this punk’s roguish behavior. If he wished to go get himself ruined, just like his father, then it was his problem.

He shook his head dismissively. “I will see you in class tomorrow,” he said and stepped aside.

“Why ya gotta be sucha wack, Teach?” 

Ichigo kept walking.

“Lookit when ‘m talkin’!” With a abrupt jerk, he was pulled and turned by the elbow. Blue eyes glared at him with unrestrained petulance.

Ichigo ignored the question and looked pointedly at the hand that held him. “Let go of me, Jaegerjaquez or it’s the Principal’s office for you.”

“You bein’ all salty cuz I messed up yer date with that bopper, dat it?

And with that, Ichigo’s stretched rein on his temper snapped. His face twisted with the fury that had been burning inside him for the past three days and his hands found the delinquent’s collar. He wrung the teenager forward and hissed into his face, “I’m trying to be patient and understanding here, Jaegerjaquez - trying real hard. Don’t push it.”

Then, the little asshole’s face did something it had never done before – it paled, looking stricken, then crumpled.

A warm, rough hand wrapped over Ichigo’s. “Why ya acting like such a prick, man? I aint do nothin bad. Just tryna,” the teen’s voice clammed up for a second, “just tryna protect ya.”

Ichigo found his eyebrows raise in incredulity. But the confusing change in the teenager’s temperament was enough of a shock for him to  recall where they were and what their postures could be interpreted as. He moved, smoothening the shirt he wore as he did.

He hadn’t wanted any confrontations; he hadn’t wanted to deal with this, whatever _this_ was. But if Jaegerjaquez was going to get all over his case, then he might as well lay it out for him in simple, comprehensible words. “What you did on Friday? You insulted me. No, you _betrayed_ me. You crossed a line you shouldn’t have and this time? I can’t forgive you.”

Ichigo ignored the stricken look on the boy’s face. It seemed that after all these years, he had finally gotten through that bravado and pierced right into the kid’s heart – for that’s what it felt like. Ichigo also ignored the way those oceanic eyes became moist, and the way those dry lips trembled.

“Mr. Kurosaki – ”

“There’s nothing else I wish to say to you,” said Ichigo. Refusing to look a second longer at those sad blue eyes, Ichigo turned abruptly and marched out of the class.

 


	2. Chapter 2

It was dark. The kind of darkness that feels heavy, as if it were a living being of its own. If you inhaled hard enough, you could breathe the darkness in, like a thick, ashy smoke cloud and it would fill your lungs, stretch it to its limit almost suffocating you.

Ichigo Kurosaki groped around him, urgently, trying to get hold of the tar that surrounded him and push it aside. But his fingers found nothing. In fact, the more he stumbled about the surer he became that there was nothing but emptiness.

Until he heard the clear sound of a child’s laughter.

He sighed, relieved to hear it. He stepped in the direction where the sound had come from. But stopped short when he heard a mischievous wheeze behind him – a small clittering giggle Confused, he turned, hoping to touch the comforting flesh of a warm being. But, again, nothing.

Then, as if to tease him – a pitter-patter of small feet alerted him of a child running. Or maybe it was a dwarf, for the laugh he heard now was deep throated and it was of a man’s. As if reading his thoughts the laughter increased in its decibel, becoming more sharp and loud. One voice, became two – an echo of each other, then it was three and then more. Soon there was so many voices, some near his face, down his neck, some from below him stomach. Ichigo flinched and thrashed and clapped his hands to his ears. Laughter became shrieks, getting past his fingers. The darkness was saying something – accusing him, shaming him, calling him names.

Too loud, too loud.

His hands covered nothing. He couldn’t make it stop.

Tendrils of darkness touched him, creeped around his arms, its grip tightening as it when up. It was on his neck, laughing close to his ears, under the tight press of his fingers.

It was inside him.

He couldn’t breathe.

* * *

  
Ichigo dumped three heaps of coffee into the maker and paused. He added two more. Measuring the water and filling the maker, he snapped the lid shut. He flicked the power on distractedly, while pulling out his phone and jabbing in the numbers he knew by-heart.  
He waited the twenty rings it took to reach the voice-mail, when a sing-song, chirpy voice greeted him.

_Hello~ Sorry I can’t pick up the phone right now. Be a darling and leave a message. I will call you right back! Promise ~_

Ichigo didn’t leave a message after the beep. Inoue hadn’t called him back after the thirty-three messages he had already sent her. Instead, he sighed and pushed himself away from the kitchen counter, running a hand through his hair in frustration. There was little he could do but wait.

He trudged to the front door, letting himself out to collect the local daily. The weather had taken a turn for worse in the past two days. A biting chill was ever present and the first snowfall of the seasons was expected to arrive before the weekend. Ichigo stayed out a minute longer, looking out at his serene neighborhood. It looked postcard-perfect despite the bleak sky and the quiet, morose residents that called it home. When Ichigo had moved to Hueco Mundo, he had thought he would be here for the long haul. That this was the life he had carved out for himself. So much for the grand plans, he thought, bitterly.

When the coffee maker beeped, Ichigo fixed himself a mug and settled on the living room couch. It was six-thirty in the morning. Karakura was two hours ahead, meaning his old man would already be at the clinic. Perfect time for Ichigo to catch him alone for a much needed talk.

If Isshin Kurosaki felt surprised his son’s odd timed call, he didn’t show it. The annoyingly cheerful sound of his father’s voice greeted Ichigo as it always did. “My dear son! How nice of you to call me! You have made this poor soul so very happy today!”

Ichigo sipped his coffee, welcoming the sharp taste. “Yo. How is it going over there?”

“Splendid! As always. Not many visitors to the clinic this week but that’s a good thing, isn’t it? Little Yuzu made some blueberry muffins today and I brought it with me. It’s the best batch she’s made so far. Too bad you missed it. Maybe, you can convince her to make some when you are here for the holidays. But only if you brings good gifts for all of us–”

“About that,” said Ichigo, interrupting his father’s ramblings, “I don’t think I’m gonna be able to make it this time.”

The reaction was as expected. “The hell you won’t! I didn’t raise you to be such a brat! Do you think it’s _cool_ to ditch your family for the holidays now? What rubbish. Orihime’s already booked her tickets to fly back and you are saying you can’t make it? Does she know about this?”

Ichigo paused. His throat felt tight all of a sudden. He forced down the sip he had taken. “No,” his voice came out a little hoarse. Possibly from the too hot drink. “She is a little busy with the year-end audit,” he said and it wasn’t a complete lie. “I will talk to her this weekend.”

There was short pause when neither said anything. The Kurosaki’s were big on tradition and family dinners on Christmas Eve was about one. Ichigo couldn’t skip the family visit without a really good reason. It seemed to dawn on his father that he wasn’t fooling around. 

“I spoke to Professor Urahara couple days back,” said Ichigo, putting down the cup. He fisted the now hand and released it, fisted, then released and then again in a repetitive motion. He hoped his father didn’t catch on to his nervousness. “You know how he’s been pestering me to come back to school. Help him out with his research and see if I can get my proposal any attention. Apparently, there’s a opportunity that’s opened up – nothing solid but it looks like it has potential.”

 _There_ , he had gotten it out in the open now. His fidgety plan to escape Hueco Mundo was becoming more of a solid reality. When he took the plane out next weekend, it would become even more real.

  
“Oh,” said his father, uncharacteristically. That simple oh carried a lot of meaning – all which Ichigo knew. _Proposal? What proposal? Since when have you been working on one? Didn’t you say you were happy with just the masters? That you had found your purpose in life and that Hueco Mundo was it?_ But the question never came and Ichigo felt his grow heavy at the level of trust his father seemed to have in his judgements and how with an open mind he seemed to accept any and all of his decisions.

After a few seconds, in typical Isshin-fashion, his father sang with an over-the-top affectionate voice, “Masaki! What a fortunate father I am! Look what an admirable and responsible person our little Ichigo has become!”

If Masaki had really been listening then she would know that nothing could be more further from the truth. 

* * *

  
The only way Ichigo was able to rein in on his anger as he took in the profanities scribbled on the board of his classroom was by reminding himself that he wouldn’t have to ever face such situation in about a week’s time. If he really wanted to, he could probably pin-point the kid that did this. This was the third day in row he had to bear witness to pointed insults – mostly about his birth and his mother. It was all too obvious what had inspired it, but the most obvious suspect hadn’t turned up to school all said days. So the responsibility decidedly fell on one of his lackeys – Ichigo would bet his paltry fortune on it being DiRoy.

He took the eraser and scrubbed the board free off the nasty comments, wondering how much of this was the rowdy band’s doing and how much of it was Grimmjow’s. But more importantly, what exactly had the idiot told his friends that it brought forth such a vicious hatred towards the math teacher they had so far grudgingly respected?  
Ichigo couldn’t help the surge of hatred he felt towards the insolent little brat who had spoiled everything for him. Spoiled his plans, spoiled the relationship with his girl and forced him to flee town. All for what? For caring about his hardships at home. For empathizing with him because he had been such a place too when his mum had died. Served him right for being such a bleeding heart.

He thanked the heavens the teenager had chosen not to turn up to school or he wouldn’t have required Grimmjow’s help to land himself in jail. 

* * *

  
Renji didn’t come to pull Ichigo out of class during lunch break like he always did. Ichigo didn’t know if he would have noticed had he been counting on his obnoxious friend to turn up and distract him from his dark thoughts. Ichigo sulked until he realized it was already fifteen minutes past the time Renji usually turned up then decided it was time for him to go his friend this time.

Renji’s class was on the first floor, the closest one to the back entrance which opened into the football ground. Ichigo found him at his desk, glaring at the phone in his hand.

It only took Ichigo a few seconds to realize that Renji seemed uncharacteristically dejected.

“Had an argument with Rukia?” asked Ichigo, closing the door behind him.

Renji looked up in his direction with a jerk, startled from his thoughts. “Hey,” said Renji a beat later, with a shrug and a reluctant smile, “Naa, me and Ruki are good.”

“Good,” said Ichigo, smiling. But then he watched as a deep frown slipped back on the redhead’s face. Ichigo picked up a chair from the front row and brought it near Renji’s and settled himself in it. “Wanna talk about it?”

A shrug again. “Just a parent,” said Renji, rolling his shoulder as if to get rid of his tension, “Kid didn’t show up for school for three days, so I had to make the call to the parent just like the rules say – not like I actually like doing that shit and just my luck the parent has to be an absolute asshole with whom no decent person would voluntarily talk to and do you know what’s the best part? The douchebag hasn’t seen his son in three days either and you know what he said when I asked him whether he’s made any effort to find him? That I shouldn’t be too worried because he was probably with my mother.What anabsolute slimebag.” 

Ichigo felt a sick heaviness settle in his stomach as he listened to his friend. He vaguely recalled that Renji was Grimmjow’s homeroom teacher. He had been so absorbed in dealing with the aftermath of Grimmjow’s disastrous actions last Friday that he had forgotten about the punk’s acute propensity for self-destruction.

“I mean, what kind of a shit father would say that about his own son?”

And how very much Jaegerjaquez Sr. seemed to encourage that particular trait of his son’s.  
_

 


	3. Chapter 3

Hueco Mundo saw its first snow on Friday. The temperature dropped dramatically after the clouds cleared and the wind picked up its harsh tune. The suburbs where Ichigo lived was a grassland with only a smattering of trees to come in the way of the northern gales. This particular night Hueco Mundo looked very much like a desert – with vast stretches of white sand engulfed in a pale moonlight and an ever-present chillness.

Ichigo had been prepared for the turn of the season. Over the week he had cleared the chimney vents, gotten an insecticide sprayed and stocked up on essential groceries, batteries and the like. A storm was forecasted for the weekend and he didn’t want to find himself caught in the middle of it. He thought he had everything he needed – until he realized he did not have any beer on him. It was just his luck that nearest store that sold alcohol was four miles away. The thought of forgoing it all together did not even cross his mind and so, despite all the forethought and planning, Ichigo found himself driving despite the snow.

At six-thirty in the evening, the store clerk was already ready to close up shop. When he saw Ichigo trudging in, he made his displeasure known. Ichigo did a quick round-up of the things he wanted – a case Busch Ice beers, a bottle of Glenlivet 12Y and just for the heck of it, a bottle of premixed Sangria. He would have lingered longer to pick up a few other things, had the clerk not been silently glaring at him. When Ichigo tipped him an extra ten, he was amiable to help him carry the beer case to his car.

Ichigo got into his car and let out a relieved sigh. Turning on the heater sent warm tingles throughout his body and after a few minutes, he was slowly starting to feel his fingertips again.

The lights around the lot were dulled by the heavy fog that hung in the air. The high beam of the car only served to reflect off of the snow and obstruct his eyesight even more. So it should have been nearly impossible for him to have noticed the dark lump that had fallen haphazardly against the back wall of the store.

At first, he told himself that it was nothing – probably a black garbage bag strewn across haphazardly. But his gut told him otherwise, and soon enough the lump shifted.

It could be a wounded animal but the part of Ichigo that was reluctant to get out back into the cold told him it could also be a mugger posing to need help. But in all honesty, if it were the latter the poor sod probably wasn’t going to get a lot of ‘help’ in that awful weather. Telling himself he’d immensely regret it if he didn’t at least try, Ichigo wrapped his scarf tight around his nose and stepped out of the car.  
When he got closer it became obvious that it was no animal. Ichigo was looking at the back of a human. He couldn’t tell if it was male or female because they were covered with head to with a heavy looking coat along with a hood but the shape of boots suggested that it could be a man. The man shifted again, and a clear groan could be heard. It could have been a homeless person, suffering from the harsh weather and trying to find a warm place to spend the night – except the shoes were definitely expensive looking and it certainly wasn’t a warm place. Which meant something bad had happened and this person, whoever it was – was trouble.

Ichigo retracted his steps and made his way to the front of the store. He was not all that much of a hero to go seeking unnecessary trouble, but neither was he complete douche. He would let the store owner or the clerk know about the strange man on the backlot and then, get the hell out of there.

His plan fell through when he found the automatic doors to the store barred and the lights inside turned off. He tried banging on the glass, but it didn’t get him a reaction. Strange, he thought. He hadn’t been go for all that long - maybe about five minutes. He also hadn’t noticed any other car leaving the parking lot. Then again, he didn’t recall seeing another car when he entered the block. The cold was making it a little hard to stand there and recall exactly what he had seen and what he hadn’t. Fifty percent of his thoughts were preoccupied with getting back inside his car and find warmth.

Confused and little disgruntled, Ichigo went back to the lot. It took a lot of his will to pause a few feet away from the now still figure. For all he knew, it could still be a mugger or worse someone who was about to kick the bucket. He didn’t need such complications on his hand.

Fuck it was cold. He had to get back.

And yet, his feet took towards trouble. With his heart in his throat, he inched closer. His body became instinctively alert, getting prepared for the worst - a gun, maybe, or worse, a knife. He crouched and jerked the prone man’s shoulder. His hand connected with something sticky. Ichigo flinched. If had been indecisive before, he was positively regretting his choice now. But the man was not still lying prone, as if he hadn’t felt Ichigo’s prodding at all. Growing impatient, Ichigo tried to get the man to face him.

Ichigo wheezed out a shocked exhale and felt his heart drop to his stomach. He took in the matted blond hair, bent nose, black-eye, bleeding lips and a cheek marked with fading streak-like bruises.

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez.

* * *

 

The storm that was forecasted came sooner than expected. The shrill whistle of the wind could be heard despite all the windows being shut. Somewhere upstairs a loose door was creaking ominously.

Ichigo sipped some beer and not for the first time in the last hour, cursed himself. He should have reported in. He should have called the authorities. At least, the parent.

He hadn’t.

His hand around the bottle was trembling and when he tried to steady it by covering it with the other hand he felt how cold it was. The realization that he was anxious, made him more anxious. His mind jumped to justify his actions: there was a storm forecasted, the injuries on the boy weren’t that bad and nothing good would come out of going to the father or the police. But who was he kidding? He knew how his actions would be interpreted. He was further incriminating himself. At this rate, he was going to land himself in jail before the end of the year –

Ichigo almost fell out of his chair when he felt the phone in back pocket vibrate. He glanced surreptitiously at the sleeping form of his student, trying to see if that little noise had woken him up – and immediately felt stupid for it. He put the beer on the coffee table that separated him from the blond teenager and pulled out his phone.

  
He wished he hadn’t.

  
_I’m not ready to talk yet. Sorry._

  
A heavy piece of lead settled itself comfortably in Ichigo's chest and something prickled the back of Ichigo's eyes, threatening to make itself known. The one person who always believed in, who always supported him no matter how erratic his decisions were– now doubted him. And yet, here he was bringing home the very seed of that distrust.

  
His guest, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez was lying on a stretched recliner under three layer of blankets, looking for all the world like he belonged there – in Ichigo's living room and at Ichigo's home.

  
Ichigo lost track of the time he stood up, made his way to the injured kid and crouched low to peer at him. The next thing he knew, he was pushing the soft blond hair away to check on the bandage. There had been a tear above the left eyebrow, but not deep enough to require stitches. A broken nose that could be fixed with an external splint; a few bruises on his chest but most looked older than a week. His knuckles had been the worst – swollen and bleeding profusely. It had taken Ichigo a while to clean them up. The blood on the coat hadn’t been his – which raised more questions than it answered, but Ichigo knew that the story behind it wouldn’t help the teenager's case, had he called in the authorities.

He hadn’t entirely fucked up when he brought Grimmjow home.

  
**If that makes ya sleep better, yer majesty.**

  
Interrupting that dreadful voice, a low groan filled the air and startled Ichigo. Ichigo stumbled as he stood up and put some distance between him and the awakening teenager. He seized his beer and took a sip to ground himself.

  
The kid was up on his feet in a blink, snarling and throwing off his blankets and putting out his hands in an offensive pose. The low lights and unfamiliar surrounding must have thrown him off. When his eyes finally found him, Ichigo could clearly see the unbridled terror in those blue eyes. Ichigo felt like he had swallowed cement.

Ichigo turned away, stepping hastily toward his refrigerator to retrieve a ready-to-make soup bowl. He trashed the near-empty beer bottle, placed the styrofoam container in the microwave and turned it on. The buzz of the machine rotating the plastic filled the air, almost cutting through the tension he felt around him.

  
Heavy, purposeful footsteps approached towards Ichigo.

“Mr. Kurosaki?”

  
Ichigo ran a hand over his face and sighed. He had made the decision to bring home the devil-spawn, now it was time to pay the price for it - forget all his anxiety and concentrate on the punk's problems.

“You have truly made me proud,” said Ichigo, without bothering to look at his student, “Skipping school an entire week, off getting high in some back alley and bare-knuckling for money again, - just exactly like how I told you not to. Atta boy.”

When he didn't get an immediate rebuke, Ichigo turned to face the teenager, who's silhouette cast a long, murky shadow in the dim light. He couldn't clearly see the expression on his face, not that it was a hard guess. He leaned back against the counter and said with as much disdain as he could muster, “How much did they offer? A hundred? Five hundred? Or was it just for kicks? Was it so that you could get the shit bet of you, get dumped in some random parking lot and freeze to death like the gutter rat you are so bent on becoming!” Ichigo realized how loud he had gotten only when he felt his shoulders heave with every breath he took.

The punk’s face broke into a heavy sneer as he shot back, “What's it gotta do with ya, huh? First, ya cut me dead when all I was finna talk to you and now ya come at me like I been done somethin’ wrong. It ain’t got nothin’ to do with ya, teach! Get off my cunt already.”

“You little -” Ichigo bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from swearing. “You mind your language, Jaegerjaquez.”

The teenager scurried forward, smelling of strongly of weed and nicotine - got close enough to look down at him and said eloquently, “ _Fuck. You._ ”

All the restraints that Ichigo had had till then snapped and he felt himself going berserk. His mind slipped past the fury, and the anxiety and fell into a pool of tranquility where his body did all the work and his mind did none. The tell-tale white mist clouded the side of his vision, at the same time his sense became sharper - he could hear the way the _child_ ’s breath hitched in surprise, eyes widened like he was only now noticing the change in his teacher - too late, too **late**. Ichigo had no control - his body went to the side, Grimmjow's hand was brought to his back and he was pushed against the counter with a pale hand to the neck like he was nothing but a rag doll. Fingers dug deep into the skin and -

_Ding!_

Ichigo hissed at the sound that pierced through the haze and glowered at the thing that had made it. It took him more than a few seconds to realize that he was glaring at the microwave oven. He turned back to where Grimmjow was straining to look at him from beneath the tight grip of his fingers, his breath coming out in short spasms.

The touch burnt him and he scrambled back.

He didn't apologize. There was no point.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

The Kurosaki residence was the only house in the entire street that was not flooded with light. The drapes were drawn tight, and the lights were off. The living room was cast in a dull yellow illumination cast by a single desk lamp. The portable heater was wheezing out tufts of warm air in the otherwise frigid room. Grimmjow sat right next to it, warming his hands.  
  
Ichigo was down to his fourth beer when he settled down across from his student.  
  
“You should come back to school,” he said, looking at the bottle dangling between his fingers. He looked up to see if he had the teenager’s attention when he didn't get a reply and found blue eyes glaring at him. The alcohol helped settle his nerves and loosened his tongue. “I never pegged you for an immature child, but clearly I made a mistake.”  
  
The side of Grimmjow’s face that Ichigo could see, bloomed a rudy shade of red, his jaws twitched, and the shoulders rose stiffly. But the tongue-lash Ichigo expected didn’t come. “I know you didn't get into the fight without a reason - one against how many? four? five? I have taught you better and you are not stupid. You should have known you wouldn't come unharmed,” continued Ichigo, “So what was the idea? To piss me off? Or maybe you thought getting yourself killed would somehow make what you did better?”  
  
The teenager snorted and muttered something that Ichigo couldn’t quite catch. Ichigo tilted his head questioningly - feeling the warm tingles of the booze working when he did that. “What was that? Nothing worthwhile to say?”  
  
“Said you think too much of yerself, Teach,” said Grimmjow, the nasty scowl he had on turning a little taunting. He turned away for the heater and laid himself sprawled over the couch arm “Not everythin’ I be doing is boutcha.”  
  
Ichigo slammed the beer on the low coffee table, sloshing the yellow liquid all over the carpet. “Why are you skipping school if it has nothing to do with me?” said Ichigo, his voice sharper than he would have liked. But better words than fists, he reminded himself, even as the voice in his head goaded him otherwise.  
  
Grimmjow unfazed watched him through nearly closed eyes.  It didn't look like he was going to answer, and Ichigo was ready to snap at him again when he turned his head away. It fixed on something behind Ichigo almost he said, “Decided it's time to bail, aight? I ain’t bout dat life - goin’ ta college, bust ass at some nine-ta-five, be wearin’ a suit and tie, bending backward for some douche. Naah, I’m chill.”  
  
“You can't be serious,” said Ichigo, completely blind-sided.   
  
“True do,” said Grimmjow, sitting up and yawning now, pointedly ignoring the way Ichigo was getting agitated again, “Where dya stash the rest of ‘em?” He was pointing at the bottle in Ichigo's hand, who ignored the question.  
  
“You have a scholarship in your hand you are willingly throwing that away?” said Ichigo, his voice shaking. He hadn't realized he had gotten up and gotten near until he saw Grimmjow straining away from him.   
  
“Aw, Teach, Jow be gettin’ real stiff tired of yer drama,” said the punk, his eyes blinking dazedly and waving a dismissive hand. It grated on Ichigo's every nerve - the way he looked at him, uncaring and flippant as if all the effort and care Ichigo had poured over him for the past few years had meant nothing. Unwittingly, despite all his restraint, Ichigo’s hands held the teenager’s shoulder is a crushing grip. It caused a small smile - both aggravating and intoxicating to form on those lips. Ichigo should have taken that as a warning but he was too busy shuffling through an onslaught of memories - of evenings spent sparring with this very aggravating creature, of the times, stopped him from getting expelled because he had had temper tantrum and all those times he had pulled him out of trouble and patched him up.  
  
Because he didn’t notice the smile, he didn’t notice the way black bloomed in the electric blue irises or the way warm breath fell over him in short bursts. Grimmjow leaned forward and whispered right next to his ear, “You finna fight me, Mr. Kurosaki?”  
  
Grimmjow pulled away, holding him in a steady gaze that had him transfixed. Blond lashes enveloped by teal wings fluttered against high cheekbones, leaving behind a dusting of freckles that were turning pink. Neither said anything for a moment. The heater beside them continues to wheeze loudly - louder than the storm that was lashing outside. The voice in his head was quiet, too - listening, taking in the boy - nearly a man before him. It always favored him for some reason, like it did no one else. Ichigo fancied that he could hear his own heart’s beat.  
  
Long fingers slowly grazed up his neck, tugged a little at the base of his skull and Ichigo was pulled back in - forward and deeper into the trance the boy was weaving. Ichigo’s gaze inadvertently caught the quick movement of pink slipping past the parted mouth and wetting the dry lower lip - almost languid. He didn't have to wonder how they would feel flush against his.  
  
“Or do you wanna finish what we started?”  
  
Fist connected with jaw in a messy left hook.  
  
“Sonuva!”  
  
Ichigo fell on his ass, his head spinning and stomach vehemently protesting the quick movement. Grimmjow above him was cradling his jaw and glaring murder at him. “You be all teasin’ me, yanking meh balls around and then smack, yea fuck me up like I was somethin’ stupid, ya fuckin’ prick!”    
  
Shock and humiliation burnt like liquid fire in Ichigo's veins. “I'm a prick? I have been leading you on? How dare you! After all that I did for you, you betrayed me. You - you!”  
  
“Again with that bullshit! I ain't do nothing,” said Grimmjow, getting down and crouching in front of Ichigo, grinning at him with no humor in his eyes, “Ya kissed meh, ya bastard. I was tryna mack, dat true, but ya wasn't squatting there and doing nothin’ either. Ya kissed meh first, don't make that shit up bout me fucking it all up - that’s jus bullshit.”  
  
Ichigo could hear a wild cackle that only his ears could pick up. It echoed in his mind so loud that he almost missed its words – He got ya, king! The little shit got ya by the balls!  
  
A sharp burst of pain bloomed above his right brow - the beginnings of a migraine. He needed another drink. Or three. Maybe, it was time to move on to the hard stuff. But as he attempted to get up and move away, he was pulled briskly by the still seething teenager, “Admit it, ya want me.” Blue eyes bored into him as if trying to see past the shield of his anger, body flush against his own and heavy, warm breath raining down on him – the smell of cigarettes. But if there was something Ichigo was really good at, was letting go of the reins and letting the other takeover – like he had done earlier. What was tougher, was holding it at bay and yet using its strength. If he lost control, blood would be spilled, and damage – the unrecoverable kind, would be done. He struggled to keep his breath even, concentrated on the here, and now – but it was hard.  
  
“I’m your teacher and mentor,” he said, through gritted teeth, his voice becoming slightly nasal – not his, “And you are a child.”  
  
“I’mma be eighteen next month.”  
  
Ichigo yanked himself away and put some much-required distance, “Besides the point - what happened that day was a mistake.” Grimmjow made a disbelieving sound, but his eyes hardened, and his thin nose scrunched up as if he were keeping his emotions in check – it was obvious that both he and his pride were both being hurt. Good. “I kissed you because I was awfully drunk. I would’ve kissed anybody at that point. And you knew this. You jumped me knowing full well I wasn’t in my right mind and took advantage of me.”  
  
“Yer full of shit!” said Grimmjow, his face red and looking like he was about to explode.  
  
“Am I?”, smirked Ichigo, feeling awfully cruel but reveling in it. He had turned Ichigo’s life upside down and he deserved to feel every bit of pain, confusion, and shame he was causing Ichigo. He had thought he wanted to run away and leave this whole mess behind, but confronting the brat and putting him in his place felt good. It lifted a weight off his chest. “You ruined everything _,”_ he spat viciously as the accumulation of all the hatred that had been simmering inside bubbled out of him, “I was going to propose to her, you bastard. And you ruined that because you thought it would be funny to play a sick joke on me.”

The punk had the nerve to look wounded, his teal eyes widening and silver-blonde eyebrows bunching together in a deep frown. His mouth was slack and his hands raised as if he wanted to stop him.

 Ichigo refused to fall for it. But enough had been said. For the thousandth time, he had to remind himself, he was not dealing with a grown-up. He turned his back to the boy, ““Hasn’t it been a while since you called Gilga? Check and see if  –“

 A sudden heat flooded his system. For a second he simply couldn't comprehend what was happening - only that his body was going into a sort of shock and his mind started to dull. Somewhere, through the haze, he realized that he was caught from behind, pressed up against hard planes and arms around his waist that were holding him in an unrelenting grip. Ichigo’s hands came up, a brave attempt to wring the grip free. But when skin met skin, it sizzled, burning him. He bit his lip, trying to find an anchor in that little pain it gave him. It did not help. Instead, he felt every inch of his body that was in contact with the warmth against him. He could smell the cinnamon and musk underneath the tobacco that he knew so well. He could feel hot puffs of air against his exposed neck and he could certainly feel the soft, wetness against his temple.

 He was supposed to fight for something - was supposed to deny something. But his mind was in shambles, and his body sunk deeper into the warring feelings of security and desperation. And really, what could be so bad about something that felt so good -

 “Don’t ya see?” said Grimmjow, his voice a soft whisper against his ear. Ichigo found dressed fingers entwining with his, holding him - securing him. He was starting to forget where his body ended and where the other began. “Ya and me - we _belong_.”

 Ichigo felt a deep yearning to let go. To give in to that strong grip that bore him, to pretend for a second that there was no reason to hold back.

Something inside him broke and with sudden clarity, images of the past week swam past his mind along and heart echoed the wreck of emotions he had felt. The lips against had been perfect, like something he hadn’t realized he had been searching for but found nonetheless - soft and sure and giving life to every nerve of his body - sending tingles to places he hadn’t known he had and the way it had made him feel - light and free - as if he was nothing and the blue-haired angel was everything. And he had let himself go, just like he was then - let himself fall, not worrying about the crash, of how hard it would hit him when it did. He had been so sure it would never come, until -

 Until he had heard the shriek.

 Something that the bastard had counted on all along.

 Ichigo was on the other side of the room faster than a blink. His body trembled with the efflux of emotions and need leaving out of him like an unwanted discharge.

 “You and me,” he said, calling on his demon for the endless supply of venomous anger it provided, “we are _nothing_.”

 There was no reply, and Ichigo whose focus was entirely on restraining himself from going berserk, did not have the patience nor the interest to understand the myriad of expressions on the teenager’s face. “I’ll be nothing but a vague memory to you, soon,” he said, a hand on the doorknob and throwing open the front door.

 Blue eyes burned with an intensity that Ichigo failed to feel the cold that blasted from the storm that was swirling outside. But it did not matter. It was time for Grimmjow to go.

 “Dat supposed to mean?”. Eyes darted to the open door and back to him.

 “I’m leaving,” said Ichigo, a smile so wide that it hurt his mouth, “Away from this mess. Away from _you._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't send me hate-mails. 
> 
> Also, kind of drove myself crazy writing this. 
> 
> Hate it? Love it? Should I keep writing this? Let me know what ya think.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eight Years Later.

The high-ceilinged room was brightly lit and the crisp smell of lavender blew with each gust of chilled air from the centralized cooling unit. The carpeted floor muffled the shuffling footsteps of a hundred people that were trudging in through the double doors, but it could not do much for the low-toned murmuring that was abuzz in the auditorium. A sudden laugh would break out of rhythm, clattering in its clarity and asynchrony as the suited men and high-heeled women found faces that they hadn’t seen in a while. But soon another wave of grainy noise of meaningless pleasantries would engulf it and the good-humor would be forgotten.

Grimmjow pressed further back into his seat, feeling tendrils of warmth spreading through him as his body fell into a state of languorous comfort. He adjusted his earphones, and the noise around him dulled. He leaned his head back, settling his neck against the edge of the seat and felt his eyes droop. The bright lights and chilly air was no match against the fatigue he felt. To his eyes everything was dull and to his touch, everything comfortably warm. His earphones protected him from conversations he did not want to have. The session was on some topic that was in no way relevant to him. He was there only because of that dickhead Tousen. But that was good, here was good - he could get some sweet sleep -

Something startling cold pressed against his cheek. Grimmjow flinched and nearly jumped out of his seat.

Thick, silky hair fell across Grimmjow’s knee as his annoying childhood friend and a colleague, tilted her head and peered at him. Her face was split wide in a gleeful grin and was two inches away from his own. Her strong floral perfume tickled his nose.  “What the actual fuck, Nell!” said Grimmjow scrunching his nose from sneezing and pushing the tall woman by the shoulder with more effort than he would have liked to admit. She giggled and fell into the chair next to him, pulling off his earphones along with her.

“You looked so much like a little kitty, with that cute little pout of yours, looking all soft and vulnerable - I just had to, you know,” gushed Nel, sweeping her long mane of a hair to one side and giving him an exaggerated leer.

“Fuck you,” said Grimmjow. Turning away from her, he glared at the backs of men that were filing into the row before theirs.

“Yeah, we tried that one remember? Didn’t turn out so well for the either of us,” she said, yawning and rubbing her eyes tiredly. “Anyway, you better pay attention. Tousen is sitting right there. He won’t like it if he catches you sleeping in the middle of an expensive seminar he paid for you to attend.”

“This seminar is a load of crap is what it is,” grunted Grimmjow, yawning as well. “I don’t need this shit right now. My papers are due first thing tomorrow. I need to be at my desk. Not sittin’ and listenin’ to some wiseass talk about fictional numbers and relationships that's all made up.”

“Pretty sure that’s very far from what Ben was going for when he came up with the First-Digit Laws,” said Nell, sounding as smug as ever. Honestly, Grimmjow wasn’t sure why he even hung out with her. Should have ditched her ass right after they broke up, but here she was trailing after him into his twenties and perfectly content being his own existential nuisance.

“Who’s Ben now?” said Grimmjow, yanking his earphones from beneath her elbows. It didn't come away and he gave her a pointed glare.

“Oh Grimm - sometimes I really think you were dropped on your head as a child,” she said, completely ignoring his attempt at moving her arm. Instead, she was giving a steady patronizing look, “Did you even read the mail properly? Do you know who’s the speaker today?”

Grimmjow rolled his eyes to convey how much the topic and the speaker both interested him. Retrieving his earphone, he safely tucked them away. The room was almost full now, and the noise-levels had increased from a low, lulling buzz to a riotous clamor. Grimmjow sighed and wished he could go back to ignoring them all and get some shut-eye. He folded his hands behind his head and propped his knees against the back of the chair before him. A quick glance at Nel revealed that she was looking at him with a severe frown that was very unusual for her.

“What?” he barked, sneering.

Her eyes narrowed further, making them look slit-like under the thick, heavy lashes. From a different woman that would have been alluring.  __

“What is it, woman?” he said again, a little unsettled “Somethin’ on my face?”

Her small nose scrunched up before she shook her head. Her hair flew everywhere, including at Grimmjow's eyes. He backed away as she settled and gave him a wide smile. Seriously, what was with this woman. A yawn tore through him, distracting him from his irritation. He realized how heavy his eyes felt and how nice it was to close them just for a few seconds. Grimmjow yawned, again. He could see his bedroom clearly - the cool grey walls, floor length windows fully covered with heavy drapes and the lumpy king size in the middle, waiting for him sprawl across.

“Hey Grimmy, when was the last time you went on a proper date?”  

Grimmjow frowned but didn't bother opening his eyes. “You know I don't do dates anymore.”

“Yeah? And why is that?”

“Because I have no time and because I don’t fucking want to.”

“Uh-uh.” There was silence for the next few seconds. Grimmjow could feel the annoying woman's eyes on him. He refused to acknowledge it. She had brought up his love life or a lack thereof very frequently in the past few months, throwing around heavy words like ‘settling’, ‘commitment’ and ‘finding the one’. Not a topic that sat well with him - in fact, outright freaked him out. He knew she knew it, and he also knew, that knowing it wouldn't stop her from nagging him more.

He thought she would rub it in or pitch some random girl’s name - how she would be  _ thrilled  _ to go out with him and what a perfect match they would make - but she didn’t. In fact, when Grimmjow peered sideways a minute later, her attention seemed to be towards the front. She was frowning in concentration, the tired lines around her eyes scrunching beneath the fine layer of powder she was wearing.  _ Good,  _ he thought, as he let his eyes close again, settling his neck comfortably against the edge of the backrest. The auditorium was quiet then. The speaker must have arrived.

Grimmjow let himself be lulled by the hushed breaths and low whispers. The color behind his closed eyes was a burning orange - but that was okay, it made him feel warm and it surrounded him, the feeling of being comfortable, of not having a single thing to worry - not his workpapers, not his deadline, not his empty flat; he felt his body become light as he sank into a tranquil state of nothingness.

**_SCREEECH_ ** _! _

Grimmjow let out a frustrated growl as the feedback from the mic amplified steadily, until someone smacked it. The sound stopped and the room fell back to its meaningless buzz, but he wasn’t going to take any chances again. Grimmjow fished out his earphones and plugged them into his ears as deep as he could. With a casual glance to the front to ensure he wasn’t missing in on anything near an end of the world scenario he shut his eyes.

Then forgot to breathe.

He refused to open his eyes, because what he had seen in that last second couldn’t possibly be true. No, he was going to keep his eyes closed, fall asleep and spend the night there if he had to. He wasn’t going to open his  _ damned _ eyes.

But he did.

_ Ichigo Kurosaki.  _ A name he hadn’t thought of in a while. A face he had exorcised from his memories. Same hair color, new glasses, a little older surely, polished, swankier, a tight fitting three-piece, perfect smile - looking exactly like the ghost from his past. A heavy stone settled in his stomach and his chest hurt - every little breath hard to come by. For a minute he considered that he was dreaming - it sure looked like his favorite nightmare, rendering him into a pathetic, powerless weakling - until, until he felt Nel twitch beside him.

_ “ _ You. Fucking. Bitch _.”   _ Anger crashed against every other emotion, flooding and sharpening his mind. He felt the hole inside him fill up with a strength that only fury could and he was powerful again. His hands found Nel’s. He grabbed her and brought her face close to his. Workplace ethics be damned, he was going to kill her right there.

Nel’s eyes widened, but she did not cower. Brave, but stupid. Had she forgotten what he was capable of? Did she think she could get away with playing with fire like that? He would have forgiven her for anything,  _ anything  _ but not this. This was off-limits.

“I know what you are thinking -”

He would have done something drastic had it not be for the overly cheerful tone of the company’s spokesperson greeting and welcoming the guest of honor and the speaker. Nel’s face paled as the woman droned on and  _ his  _ name was mentioned a couple of time.

“I’m going to go now.”

“You can’t. Just listen - he doesn’t -”

“Shut up! Shut up, shut up,  _ shut up _ !” He wanted to hit her. He wanted to scream. But mostly, he wanted to get the hell out of that place. So, he did. He stood up, got into the business of the three people sitting between him and the aisle, and walked out of the damned place.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's rambles:  
> I had to level the field, you know?

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know your thoughts. :)


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